


In Dudael

by icarus_chained



Category: Christian Myth & History, Mythology Fandom, The Bible
Genre: Angels, Book of Enoch, Genocide, Grief/Mourning, Imprisonment, M/M, Nephilim, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the Fallen, of all the lost, it is to this one Raphael returns.</p><p>Raphael/Azazel, written for a prompt. Dark little thing. Warnings in the tags, yes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Of all the Fallen, of all the lost, it is to this one Raphael returns. This one, in secret, if not from the Father, if never from the Father, then from the Host. To this place, this jagged, darkened hole in the desert, and the angel he bound there.

“Healer,” the prisoner laughs. “Here, not here? I cannot tell anymore. Is it day, outside?” The laugh cracks. “Sometimes I wonder if I remember what that’s like. Light. Do I remember that?”

Raphael says nothing. Sometimes he never does. Sometimes he simply stands, in the silence and the darkness, with eyes that see where the other’s cannot, and listens.

“I see my children, sometimes,” the Fallen whispers. “I hear them, too, always, always that, they scream forever, my children. Sometimes, though, I see them. These shadows. Always changing. Sometimes, your face. Sometimes … theirs.”

Raphael … moves, at last. Twitches, an agitated flutter. He will deny it, should any save the Father ask. He does not have to, with this one. 

“I did not kill them,” he says, quietly. A whisper in endless, unbroken shadows. “Not that.”

The prisoner smiles. A crack, upon his face, a maw into some other darkness, some other shadows entirely. “Do you say you would not, had He asked you that instead?” the Fallen whispers, venomous in his chains. “Do you promise me that, _Raphael_?”

The archangel flinches, faintly. “No,” he admits, softly. “I would serve, as I have always served. Your children were monsters. Had I been asked …”

“ _Monsters_!” the father spits, surging upwards in sudden, savage fury. “You speak of monsters! You? _Archangel_?”

Raphael does not answer, not this. He cannot. There is truth, even in this, even from this mouth.

“Kill me,” the Fallen whispers. Always the quietest of words. Always his request. “Let me go to them, let me have them. Wipe me clean, as they were wiped. _Kill me_. Mercy, Healer. Have that much.”

“... No,” Raphael whispers back, and it trembles, it has always trembled, from that second meeting, those aeons ago, here in Dudael. “No,” he denies, so softly, and presses his lips, for one moment, to the other’s. Seals shut that poisonous, desperate mouth, binds it as so long ago he bound the angel, and whispers softly into that maw, into those alien, ever-changing shadows. “Azazel. I cannot.”

And Azazel weeps, softly and with a black and endless humour, and kisses back. Soft, and gentle, and desperate in the darkness. “Then show me light,” he pleads. Show me light, the Fallen says, and raises bound hands to an archangel’s raiment. “Let me have that,” Azazel begs.

Raphael stares down, reaching up to catch those desperate hands, into eyes that, by the Lord’s command, will see no light ever again. Raphael looks down, into eyes that see only shadows, ever changing, wearing long lost faces. Raphael, with his prisoner’s hands in his, in this place to which he was never meant to return, closes his eyes in turn, presses his lips to the weeping brow, and to this angel, as no other … lies.

“As you wish,” he says, and it bears no trace of the lie, rings with nothing but truth despite it all. “Azazel. As you wish.”


	2. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it ends ...

“Judgement Day has come,” Raphael whispered, his voice shaking. “You are to be cast into fire.”

Azazel smiled. “At least it shall be brighter,” he rasped, and laughed as the archangel flinched. “Well? Shall we go? _Old friend?_ ” He cared not. After all this time. He no longer cared.

Raphael was silent, for a moment. Silent, for a weight of eternity. And then …

A blade pricked Azazel’s chest, rested gently above Azazel’s heart, and Azazel froze, seared in sudden hope.

“No,” Raphael whispered, very quietly. “We shall not.” 

And softly, as Azazel laughed, he pressed his blade home.


End file.
